


Love is a loaded shotgun

by Angstosaur



Category: Lord John Series - Diana Gabaldon, Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Sad John, Swearing, The real Hellfire Club, Violence, vengeful Jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angstosaur/pseuds/Angstosaur
Summary: This is a modern AU - Lord John Grey and Jamie Fraser are partners - business partners. John wants more, but when rejected, finds himself playing with danger. Jamie meanwhile, having taken a break in Scotland has returned to realise that he has been pushed to his limits and cannot take it any more. He can no longer deny his feelings, recognising that love is indeed, a loaded gun that shoots to kill.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey, Lord John Grey & Tom Byrd, Lord John Grey/Percy Wainwright
Comments: 31
Kudos: 47
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	1. Part One - Playing with Danger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Drivablecar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drivablecar/gifts), [MistressPandora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPandora/gifts).



> This story is for two people who have encouraged and supported me recently.  
> This is for the delightful Drivablecar and the lovely MistressPandora. 
> 
> This part fulfils my Outlander Bingo Challenge - the box for 'Whump'.
> 
> Rated Mature for the sheer volume of swearing ... but it's all totally called for and the worst words are cannon from the Lord John books!

Love’s a loaded shotgun

Inspired by Alice Cooper’s ‘Love is a Loaded Gun’

(Lyrics used without permission)

_Somebody saw you at the station  
You had your suitcase in your hand  
You didn't give no information  
You walked off with another man  
I'm always standing in the shadows, baby  
I watched you give yourself away  
You take them home into your bedroom  
You had another busy day_

_I tried to look the other way and fake it  
You push me to the limits  
I can't take it_

_One down, one to go  
Just another bullet in the chamber  
Sometimes love's a loaded gun  
Red lights, stop and go  
Whatcha gonna do when you play with danger  
Sometimes love's a loaded gun  
And it shoots to kill_

_Someday they'll put me in a squad car  
Someday they'll throw away the key  
But 'til that day I'll be a mad dog  
'Cause that's what you taught me to be_

_You looked into the eyes of men above you  
I was the one who really tried to love you_

_One down, one to go  
Just another bullet in the chamber  
Sometimes love's a loaded gun  
Red lights, stop and go  
Whatcha gonna do when you play with danger  
Sometimes love's a loaded gun  
And it shoots to kill_

_Pull the trigger_

**Modern AU Set in 2019**

**Part One – Whatcha gonna do when you play with danger**

**Setting – The offices of ‘Fraser-Grey, Property and Estate Management’ , Covent Garden, London**

He could hear the ‘ping’ as the lift doors opened, followed by the sound of boots that could belong to only one man.

“Good morning, Tom. I don’t suppose his Lordship has shown his face yet?” asked Jamie Fraser, as if it were any normal morning. He slung his attaché case down on the sofa meant for waiting clients and headed straight for the coffee station.

“Good morning, Mister Fraser. He got in about an hour ago, sir,” replied Tom Byrd looking up from his desk diary. 

Deliberately pausing to take a sip of his frothy coffee, and then licking the milky foam from his upper lip as slowly as possible, Tom Byrd took time to appraise the appearance of his boss – well one of his bosses. The Burberry tweed overcoat fitted snugly across the older man’s shoulders and his auburn curls were pulled back neatly at the nape of his neck, held in check by a navy-blue ribbon. Tom could tell that he had taken time over his appearance that morning. He smiled to himself as he pondered what Fraser’s reaction would be when he realised his efforts were in vain.

“Where is he then?” asked Jamie, looking up over the rim of the double espresso he had selected for himself.

Peeling a neon pink post-it note from the notice board behind his desk, Tom made a show of reading it carefully before glancing up at Fraser who had taken off his overcoat and had sat down on the sofa, perusing the breakfast pastries that were set out for employees to help themselves to when they arrived.

“I was instructed to inform you, that should you ever turn up to do any work, that Lord Grey’s whereabouts were…” Tom paused to glance once more at the post-it. “Here we go - ‘none of your fucking business.’ Does that answer your question, sir?”

Tom could have sworn that he saw steam come out of Jamie Fraser’s nostrils, either that or he had inhaled the coffee and was expelling it through his nose. The cup was slammed down on the glass topped coffee table with an ominous cracking sound.

“It is my ‘fucking business’! I am his fucking partner! Fraser-Grey Properties.” Jamie was on his feet and swinging open the glass office door to reveal the etched names. “See here on the bloody door and on the letter heading!”

“Really?” replied Tom, his eyebrows raised as if he had not just witnessed yet another of the fiery Scot’s temper tantrums. “So just where have you been the last few weeks?”

“In Scotland if ye must know. Anyway, I am back now and would dearly love to know where his lordship is hiding.”

“Oh, he’s gone now,” replied Tom, trying not to smirk, as a vindictive smile tugged at his lips. “You just missed him, sir.”

“Shit!” swore Jamie Fraser, wishing he had not given the man any warning of his return. “Is he avoiding me by any chance? I emailed to say I’d be back today.”

“I’m just the PA,” said Tom, shrugging as he shuffled some paperwork that had no need of tidying up. “How would I –”

“Bullshit, Tom!” interrupted Jamie, suddenly looming over Tom’s desk. “Ye ken everything there is tae know about the man. Ye ken him as well as his parents ever did, and a damn sight better than that arsewipe of a brother!”

“That’s not saying much to be honest. But, I can’t disagree - you’ve got me there.” Tom pushed his chair back from the desk, not appreciating the way Fraser was attempting to intimidate him. Not that he ever could – not really. “Well, seeing as you asked– yeah, he is avoiding you. And he has been ever since that evening. You remember the one – “

“Aye,” grunted Jamie, only too aware of the evening in question.

It had been the night of the office Christmas social, where they had all had far too much punch to drink and where John had caught him on his own in their shared office. The evening when John had finally tackled the elephant in the room that was growing bigger by the day, almost requiring the installation of a third desk. John had taken hold of Jamie’s hands and asked him if there was any chance at all of their friendship developing into anything more intimate.

“The one where he poured out his heart to me and I drop-kicked it into touch?” asked Jamie, prompted to wry honesty by the memory of John’s face the last time he had seen it.

“That’d be the one, sir,” chirped Tom, with false cheer.

It had broken Tom’s heart when the man he cared for more than anyone he had ever met walked out of that room into the silent open plan office space. The other employees had been stunned into silence as they had all heard the unmistakable voice of Jamie Fraser shouting at his long-term friend and business associate. They had clearly heard him tell John to get his hands off him or he would kill him. Tom had stood there, wine glass in hand, open-mouthed in shock, as John had walked straight past him, his chin tucked into his chest, tears streaming down his face. Since that night, Lord John Grey had only ever been in the office at weekends and outside regular office hours. He communicated with the team electronically and made phone calls on occasion, but only Tom had seen him in person since then. It heartened him that John Grey trusted him as much as he did.

“Where the hell is he then?” demanded Jamie, his hands splayed out on Tom’s desk. In his heart of hearts, he knew he had been cruel, and he had humiliated John unnecessarily, but he was not going to admit that to Tom Byrd. Although the wee man was probably of the same opinion, if the way his lips were pressed together was any indication.

“To be absolutely blunt with you: fuck knows. He went on a bender that night and hasn’t been himself since.”

Jamie could have kicked himself. He had rejected John in the worst possible way. He had not explained why – he had just let his prejudices and past experiences get in the way and lash out at the man who had been his dear friend for over twenty years. He took a deep breath and sat on the edge of Tom’s desk, moving aside the phone and an assortment of knick- knacks the man had collected over the years, including a chess piece that must have belonged to John.

“Have ye seen him at all?” asked Jamie, picking up the white king and turning it over in his hand. “How is he?”

“What planet are you living on? After what you did, you wait until now to ask how he’s doing!” Tom was astonished that Fraser was now asking after John’s welfare, not having bothered for weeks. “Now you’re worried about ‘im?”

“Of course I’m worrit,” exclaimed Jamie as if it was beyond question. “John’s my oldest and dearest of friends-”

“Seriously? Try telling that to ‘is broken heart!” snapped Tom, incredulous.

“What? It’s no’ like that,” protested Jamie, shaking his head. “Tom, he was drunk, he was coming on tae me – he kent I’m no’ tha’ way inclined. But- “

“He wasn’t coming onto you!” interrupted Tom. He was frustrated that for all his fancy books and certificates, Fraser could be so ignorant. “For fuck’s sake, you dense wanker – he was telling you he loved you-”

“Aye, I understand that. I love him too –” Jamie began, only to be interrupted again, by Tom Byrd.

“No mate, you don’t fucking understand! He doesn’t just love you, he’s _in love_ with you.” Tom got up from his office chair and shoved it so hard that it spun crazily across the marble tiled floor until it crashed into the coat rack. “That man worships the ground you tread on. He would throw himself in front of a bus for you and you act like he’s just a mate who got a bit handsy after too much booze at the office party!”

Dark curls fell over Tom’s brow as he vented his anger at Fraser. He did not care less if the bloody man fired him on the spot. What he would not give for just a tiny fraction of the feelings that John Grey wasted on the idiot perched on the edge of his desk, doing goldfish impressions as his face became as pale as the ivory shirt he was wearing… well, it could not be calculated.

“Where. Is. He?” repeated the irate Scot, biting out each word.

“Do you know what? I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew, not after you put him in hospital two weeks ago.”

Tom was taken aback – not by an expression of guilt that he had expected, but by wide-eyed horror.

“What? John’s been hurt?” Jamie was shocked. “But I never touched him! I would never-“

“Bollocks!” blurted out Tom, furiously. “You fucking threatened to kill him – we all heard that!”

“I never meant that - I would never lay a finger on John!” Jamie had stood up and had flung his arms wide, beseeching Tom to hear his plea.

Undaunted, Tom advanced on Jamie, ready to let the man have it, all guns blazing.

“Are you denying that you broke his arm that time?”

“Fer heaven’s sake,” sighed Jamie, recalling the event with clarity. “That was when we were kids, at that bloody boarding school–”

“Yeah, except you were Head Boy and he was the new kid.”

“We were just fooling around, ye ken how it is?” Jamie had the decency to look abashed as he recalled the prank that had left young William Grey, as he called himself then, tied to the rugby goal post with his own school tie, his broken arm twisted behind him. John had told the Principal that he did not know the names of the boys who had attacked him and that it was too dark to give descriptions of them.

“I reckon you were showing off in front of your mates. And Claire.”

“Aye, ye’re no’ far wrong there,” mumbled Jamie, thinking back to that time when he was first dating Claire Beauchamp, Head Girl.

“And while we’re on the matter of your ex, what about the time you rearranged John’s face? What about that busted eye socket?” Tom was livid, recalling the state that John had been when he had visited him in hospital. “How does that fit with the claim you’d never lay a bloody finger on him?”

“That was different!” yelled Jamie, still regretting the time he had taken out his rage on John.

“Yeah, you took off to go backpacking for six months and went missing. You’re such a selfish prick that you never thought to let him or your missus know you hadn’t been on that bloody ferry that sunk.” Tom was prodding Jamie in the chest with each point he was making, although his finger just seemed to bounce off the well-toned chest. “They thought you were dead. The two of them got pissed out of their skulls and ended up having a comfort shag. And you know why that happened? Because they were both in pieces over you!”

“I didn’t know that!” yelled Jamie in response. “When I got home, John told me he’d fucked my wife – how do you think I shouldha reacted?” asked Jamie, trying to defend what he realised in hindsight had been totally indefensible. It had been the fact that John had said they were both fucking Jamie that had set him off, not that he was going to share that with Tom Byrd. Poor John had not even attempted to ward off his blows.

“He looked after Claire and your daughter all the time you were gone and you half killed him!” Tom was shaking with anger at this point. “Not what I’d call a fair exchange!”

“Aye, well, they’ve gone now,” muttered Jamie ruefully. For some reason he had never been enough for her nor her for him. His daughter had grown up calling bloody Frank Randall ‘daddy’.

“And you know what?” asked Tom as he angrily brushed strands of hair back from his face. “Even after that stunt, he never stopped loving you. He could have pressed charges you know – ABH, even GBH. For fuck’s sake he needed surgery! You could’ve blinded him in that eye!”

As if Jamie did not need to be made to feel even guiltier than he did, that memory of his shameful treatment of John would haunt him for a long while yet.

“How are they doing back in Boston these days?” asked Tom, despite knowing quite well. “Claire and Bree?”

“None of your bloody business, wee Byrd.” Jamie scowled angrily as he glared at Tom, who seemed to know where all his buttons were and was revelling in pushing as many as he could at the same time.

“No. It’s alright, I know. She keeps in touch with John – she knows and appreciates everything he’s done for your family. Unlike you.”

Clearing his throat, Jamie looked Tom Byrd in the eye and could see he only had John’s best interests at heart. He needed to appeal to that sense of duty to find John. He needed to see the man.

“What d’ye mean by hospital anyway? Which one?” asked Jamie, fear racing through his body. _How had John got hurt and ended up in hospital without anyone telling him?_

“Kings. I took him to A and E myself by taxi, and he only agreed to that when I threatened to call for an ambulance,” spat Tom, wondering how the man had the nerve to ask which hospital John had gone to for treatment. “You’re a fucking animal, Fraser, that’s all I can say.”

Jamie shook his head vigorously from side to side, even more worried than ever.

“No, no. I swear to you, on all that’s precious tae me, that whatever was done tae him, it wasna me. I’ve no’ lain eyes on him for weeks – no’ since that night. What happened to him?”

“If you’d have been here you could’ve asked him yourself,” responded Tom, although there was doubt creeping into his voice. He wondered if he had misunderstood the situation.

“You said you took him to the hospital and from what ye’re accusing me of, I take it that he was attacked.” Jamie drummed his fingers against his thigh as he considered the possibilities. “That wasna me – I swear it. I’ve been in Scotland the entire time. Someone else hurt him.”

“Fuck, you’re right there,” Tom bit his lip as he re-evaluated his assumptions. “One of those arseholes at the club perhaps.”

“Which club?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed as it seemed that John had not been the victim of a random mugging.

“The Lavender House –”

“Shit! He told him he wasn’t going back there.” Jamie swept the phone off the top of the desk, letting it clatter to the floor. He ran his fingers through his hair. “He promised me.”

“That was before you broke his heart, mate.” Tom was sympathetic – he did not like the people at the club or how they took advantage of John’s vulnerabilities. “You also told him that he was, quote ‘a fucking wee pervert’, and that he had to stay the fuck out of your life.”

“Ifrinn! If that bastard, Neil Stapleton, had anything tae do with it, I shall throw that wee scrote into the fucking Thames with a pair of concrete boots to keep his feet warm!”

Taken aback briefly with the vitriol, but appreciating every morsel of it, Tom shook his head, even though, in his opinion, Neil the Cunt deserved anything bad that ever happened to him.

“Might not have been there – could have been that other place. The Hellfire Club. Or-”

“He’s been going to more than one club?” Jamie was growing more troubled with every new revelation. 

“Ever since you made it perfectly clear to him that you were washing your hands of him, you tosser-“

“No! No,” interrupted Jamie, wondering where he had got it so wrong. “No! That’s no’ what I said-”

“It’s what he heard. He’s had me talking with the legal team, drawing up papers to split the firm into two branches.” Tom went to the filing cabinet beside his desk and pulled out two folders. “Here you go: England and Wales for him. Scotland and Ireland for you.”

“What? Split Fraser-Grey?” Jamie was horrified at the notion. He and John had been in business together for twenty years. He had never intended for them break up at all, in any context.

“He doesn’t believe Fraser-Grey exists anymore, you arsehole. He doesn’t think you want to work with him any longer, so he’s doing the groundwork to save you the trouble.” 

“Ye can put that on hold, indefinitely. Fraser-Grey is no’ going to be broken up, no’ if I can mend things.”

“Thank fuck for that.” Tom tossed the two folders into the waste bin. “I was hoping one of you would see sense.”

Tom was relieved to hear that Jamie Fraser had no desire to part company with John Grey. He secretly hoped there was still a chance for another type of partnership between the two men. Fraser could deny all he wanted, but Tom had taken notes during enough meetings with the two of them eye-fucking across the board room table to wish they’d just get a room with a bed and get on with it.

“Where do you think he’s gone?” Jamie asked again, but this time there was a sense of desperation born of worry in his voice. From what Tom had divulged, John was taking risks, he was playing with danger. He had ended up in hospital with god knows what injuries and now he had disappeared again.

“He asked me to book him a taxi,” admitted Tom. “To Marylebone Station. He had a small overnight case with him.”

“Is he meeting anyone special d’ye think?”

“What? Like a date?” Tom rolled his eyes in despair. “Bloody hell, you really are dense aren’t you?”

“I’ll no’ stand in his way if he’s found someone else-”

“Listen to yourself – someone else? As if.” Tom sighed wearily. “If he could put you out of his mind for a minute I might have tried my luck.”

“Why did ye no’? I ken ye fancy him like mad,” Jamie decided that attack was the best form of defence. He knew damn well that Tom Byrd adored John. “I’ve seen yer eyes nearly pop out of yer head whenever he bends over. And don’t think I haven’t figured out that ye deliberately roll yer pen off yer desk whenever he walks past to get a coffee.”

Tom’s eyes flashed angrily, and he blushed at the revelation that his subterfuges had been far from subtle if Jamie Fraser had spotted them.

“The only reason I’ve never tried it on with him is because there’s only room for you in his heart. He’s not fussy about the blokes he meets for casual sex, but when it comes to love – only you will do, you fucking idiot.”

“Blokes – plural? What do ye ken about these other men?” demanded Jamie. A cold chill ran up his spine and made him shudder. The idea of John not discriminating about who he trusted his body with made him feel queasy with worry.

“Not much. Just random blokes who couldn’t give a shit about him or his feelings – or his health for that matter. Men who will use him and fuck him. And if it wasn’t you that attacked him I guess there are some that will beat the crap out of him after-”

“What?” Jamie swallowed hard.

“There have been other times now I think about it.” Tom frowned as he was reviewing memories in a different light. “One morning he had a bit of a limp and a week ago, he was wearing a cravat stead of his usual tie.”

“Dear God. What have I done?”

Jamie sunk down into the chair that was resting against the coat rack. He had taken time out at the family home, Lallybroch, to come to terms with John’s enquiry about taking their friendship a step further. He had thought long and hard about it. With the help of his sister Jenny and brother-in-law, he had reconciled himself to the fact that Claire had made a new life for herself as a surgeon in Boston and that he needed to talk to John when they were both sober. They knew John well and explained to Jamie that half their friends assumed the two were in a relationship the way they were together – finishing each other’s sentences, playing chess all night long and never being out of each other’s orbits for long at any social gathering. Since Claire had sought a divorce, he had become even closer to John, despite having assaulted the poor man.

“Help me, Tom. I need to find him before it’s too late. Where would he have gone to from Marylebone Station?”

Tom had got himself a cup of water and was sitting on the sofa, watching Jamie Fraser break down internally. He could tell from the tone of the man’s voice that he was ready to reach out to John. He also hoped it was not too late.

“I dunno – there’s that country club he sometimes goes to. He got taken there by that Everett bloke once.”

“Not George Everett that got him involved in the goings on at the Lavender House?”

“Yep – him. George the Git I call him. He also introduced him to Neil the Cunt.”

“Nice names ye have fer his new friends.” Jamie was grinding his teeth as he looked at the clock on the wall, wondering how far John could have got in the past two hours and how many speed limits he would have to break in his Porsche to get to him in time.

“They are not his friends, sir – anything but,” responded Tom, chewing on his lip as he considered that they had been wasting time while John was getting himself into deeper danger. “The only one of those bastards that gives a toss about him is Percy the Perv.”

“Christ – if it’s yer opinion that out of all of them, that Perseverance is the best of them, John really is in trouble.”

Jamie leant forward, his elbows propped on his knees, his head in his hands. The more he heard about what John was going through, the more he realised how much he wanted to wrap the man up in his arms and keep him safe. Closing his eyes, he imagined kissing John again – as they had in the past. He wanted John. Why was he only just accepting that, just as it looked as if his sojourn to the Highlands had precipitated John going on a downward spiral that could take him out of his reach forever. 

“They’re a bunch of dickheads – each and every one of them. All except for Percy. Hard to believe but true – you see he still has a torch he burns for John.” Tom paused to scratch his head, thinking back to the last time he had seen Percy, storming out through that glass door, furious that John had sent him on his way with an offer to put him up at the Savoy, but not in his home. “However, since John told him he couldn’t move in with him because he didn’t love him …well, I reckon Percy could prove to be a spiteful little shit.”

“So, if Percy did actually love him, why didn’t John stay with him?” Jamie asked, wondering why John had not formed a relationship with the man, rather than get involved with the lowlife that frequented the seedier clubs in Soho.

“You don’t get it do you? John’s too honourable to use someone’s love for him just to get laid, not knowing he can’t return their affections,” explained Tom, sighing as he had to spell it out to Jamie. “That’s why he ends up getting fucked by nasty bits of work that don’t give a shit about him.” 

“So, are ye telling me that this crowd he’s been hanging out with could do him harm?” Jamie leapt up, pushing the chair away from him. “I canna let that happen-”

“Why the fuck should you care?” Tom sprung to his feet and closed in on Jamie. “After tearing out his heart and ripping it to pieces in front of his face and the whole bloody office, why should you care what happens to the rest of him? Because that’s how he feels right now! If anything ’appens to ’im, it’ll be your bloody fault. You. Fuckin’. Arsehole.”

Grabbing an umbrella from the coat rack, Tom jabbed the pointed end into Jamie’s chest to emphasise his point. He had the large Scotsman pinned to the wall of the office and was not going to let him off the hook.

“And guess what? I’m not going to fucking let you do this to him any longer. Either promise to me you’re going to make it up to him properly and admit you fucking love him, or get the fuck out of this office. If you don’t, I swear to you, I’ll call the cops.”

“No!” protested Jamie, wrapping a hand around the bright red umbrella and twisting it out of Tom’s hands. He shook his head violently. “No, Tom! Ye’re right, I do care fer him. I told ye I loved him, and I wasna lying. I dinna want to see him hurt. No’ like this. Where the hell is this club ye think he’s gone to?”

“Hell’s the right word, mate. Dashwood’s Hellfire Club – just north of High Wycombe. He’ll be almost there by now. Train takes less than half an hour from Marylebone and there are two trains an hour.”

“Get the address and text me the postcode – I’ll put it in the satnav. A40 and M40 out of London aye?”

“You’re not going to drive, are you?” Tom blanched at the thought. He’d only been a passenger in Fraser’s Porsche once and that had been enough to terrify him.

“Well I canna take my shotgun on the fucking train now, can I?”


	2. Part two: Love shoots to kill

** Part Two - Love shoots to kill**

_One down, one to go  
Just another bullet in the chamber  
Sometimes love's a loaded gun  
Red lights, stop and go  
Whatcha gonna do when you play with danger  
Sometimes love's a loaded gun  
And it shoots to kill_

_Someday they'll put me in a squad car  
Someday they'll throw away the key  
But 'til that day I'll be a mad dog  
'Cause that's what you taught me to be_

__

Jamie was getting more and more infuriated with every red light he managed to run into on the way out of Central London. It had been stop-and-go all the way, with Jamie doing his level best to dodge road-hogging open top tourist buses and belligerent cab drivers, only to find self-righteous cyclists cutting him up to use pedestrian crossings. From Covent Garden he had cut through the back streets, sneakily going up a one-way street the wrong way, past the British Museum, cursing at a crowd of tourists dallying on the zebra crossing to take selfies and then north, past Regents Park and onto Westway heading for the A40.

As he pulled out past a convoy of red buses, he reflected on how much he hated driving in London, the roads clogged with taxis, buses, and bloody sightseers. If it had not been for John’s love of the city life, he would have happily spent all year around in the Edinburgh office. Although that would have meant not spending so much time with John. In fact, there had been nothing preventing him using Scotland as his base – and he thought on that as he considered the devolution plans Tom had been asked to draw up. He was glad that he had relegated those to the waste bin.

Thinking of his trip back from Scotland, Jamie was relieved that he had not been back to his own flat before visiting the office, otherwise he would have taken both his hunting rifle and shotgun out of the gun safe in the boot of the Cayman. It made him chuckle as he recalled the expression on Tom Byrd’s face when he had basically told him that he was going in armed – the glint in his eye told Jamie that whatever he did to the bastards who had lured John away from safety, he had Tom’s backing.

As the Westway gave way to the A40, the traffic started to move faster, much to Jamie’s relief and by the time it became a motorway, he took advantage of the multiple lanes and higher speed limit to put his foot down. Once out of the built-up area, he swung out into the fast lane and felt the power of the engine eat up the miles that lay between him and his partner. He would get Tom to pay the speeding fines out of their expense account.

It did not take Jamie long to discover that he was not in the mood for any music; one blast of Alice Cooper through the surround speakers only served to have his heart beating faster and he needed to keep his cool. The mere thought of John allowing himself to be mistreated, partly out of a sense of despair driven by his own despicable behaviour at that bloody office party, was preying heavily on his conscience.

He slammed his fists on the steering wheel, thankful that it was as robust as it was. Tom was right in that the mess John was in was all Jamie’s fault. If only he had confronted his own irrational prejudices before taking them out on his dearest friend. _Friend indeed!_ As if that were all John was to him.

Flashing his headlights at the jerk who had the audacity to overtake him from the inside in a bloody Ferrari, Jamie caught sight of the driver, a woman looking uncommonly like his sister. As the woman passed him, she rolled her window down and held out her hand. She grinned as she gesticulated at him with her thumb and forefinger pinched together, rocking to and fro – as if wanking a tiny penis. Any other time, he’d have found that amusing, but the reminder of his sister and her reactions only served to wind him up even more.

It had been Jenny who had asked where ‘his’ Englishman was from the moment he turned up on the threshold of Lallybroch late on Christmas Eve. Before even giving him a hug, she had stared at his car, her arms folded over her bosom, eyes narrowing as she glared at the empty passenger seat. When he had asked why she thought he would have John with him, she had given him ‘the look’. The Jenny Murray-Fraser look of bitter disappointment. She had asked, point blank, if they had fallen out and if so, what had _he_ done. All he had been able to do was splutter, at a loss for words, as Jenny made it clear that she was saddened as he would be hard pushed to find a better man. _How the fucking hell did his sister realise that they were in a relationship before either of them did?_

_Fuck!_

If he had only taken the time to explain what was going through his head. If only he had not lashed out when John had rested a hand on his thigh. They had sharing a toast, sitting side by side on the leather sofa _. What was it that John had said? What had been his actual words?_ For the life of him, Jamie could not recall, but he remembered exactly what he had said. Once unleashed, those words and that threat had hit their mark before he had chance to withdraw them. He should have gone after John, stopped him in his tracks before he got to Lavender-fucking-House – and wasn’t that a fucking irony? _Lavender_ House indeed! But, no, he had just slammed the office door shut, sunk into the lonely Chesterfield, and finished off the bottle of Laphroaig.

By the time he had woken up, the lights were all out in the open plan area, everyone having left. There was a neon green post-it stuck to his forehead, bearing a note in Tom’s neat handwriting:

_“He’ll be with Percy at Lavender House. Go sort it out, you ...”_

At the time, Jamie had squinted to read the last word as several derogatory terms had been used and each one crossed out, rejected in favour of another. He could just about make out ‘wanker’, ‘knob’ and ‘dickhead’, before raising his eyebrows at the word that Tom had finally settled on, in block capitals – ‘COWARD’.

As if thinking of their PA was enough to summon him, Jamie heard the tune he had assigned to incoming calls from Tom Byrd – the Pet Shop Boys’ ‘West End Girls’.

Reluctantly accepting the call, however tempted he was to reject it, Jamie braced himself for another round of abuse.

“What is it, Tom? Are ye checking up on me?” asked Jamie, as he glanced in his rear-view mirror checking for flashing blue lights and grateful not to see any. “I’m about ten minutes away from High Wycombe now.”

“You’re speeding, aren’t you?” Tom’s sigh was deliberately audible.

“Would ye rather I took it nice and slow?” asked Jamie, despite having no intention of going any slower than ninety miles an hour. “Should I maybe stop fer a nice cup of tea and a comfort break on the way?”

“Cut out the sarcasm, Fraser – John always did it better.” Tom paused long enough for the past tense to sink in. “Look, there’s something you need to know-”

“Christ, Tom, not more, for fuck’s sake, man, there’s only so much ear bending a man can take -”

“For fuck’s sake, will you just shut the fuck up and listen!”

“What’s up?”

“It’s the Hellfire Club. When I was checking the postcode, I hit the news channel instead of maps, by mistake – it’s under new management, Dashwood sold up.”

“Aye? Why’s that our concern? I dinna give a shit who owns the place. I’m just going to get John out of there.” Jamie scratched his head, puzzled, feeling the seat vibrate as he swerved too close to the other lane. “What’s really troubling ye, wee Byrd?”

“It’s not the why. It’s the who. I’d never heard of the company that bought out enough shares to control the business, so I did some digging-”

“Aye? What’s the name?”

“Beauchamp Enterprises,” said Tom.

“What?” blurted out Jamie. “That was Claire’s maiden name.”

“Yeah, and an alias of someone else we know,” mumbled Tom. “The company have been associated with a whole raft of blackmail cases. You know the sort - scandals involving government ministers engaged in orgies and satanic rituals.”

“What!?” exclaimed Jamie, as he had to slam the brakes on to avoid a Land Rover that had drifted over into his lane, apparently determined to stick to the actual speed limit. “I thought ye said it was just another sex club! Just a wee bit more exclusive.”

“The Hellfire Club?” blurted out Tom, incredulously. “Fuck, no – that place is totally hardcore. John only ever went there once as a guest of Neil the Cunt. Now this new management has taken over, it seems to have got even more extreme.”

Whatever else Tom was going to add was drowned out by the sound of a siren approaching rapidly. It was lucky for Jamie that the patrol car was in pursuit of someone else and that he was stuck doing seventy miles an hour behind the car in front of him.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Jamie. “What on earth possessed John to go there now of all times?”

“I think I know,” admitted Tom, sounding guilty. “This morning, when I went in the office to ask if he wanted a coffee, he got all twitchy. Shoved something in the drawer of his desk. I found it - personal invite to become initiated as a full member-”

“Shit. This is stinking more and more.” Jamie drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “I need ye to find out who’s behind Beauchamp Enterprises.”

Jamie could hear Tom tapping away at his keyboard, accompanied by more and more swearing.

“Oh fuck – arseholes, bastards, fucking cunts and pricks!”

“What?!” Although Jamie had grown used to Tom’s foul mouth when it was just him and his two bosses, he needed more to go on.

“Late seventies punk,” replied Tom, as if Jamie should know.

“I ken the reference, wee Byrd, ever since ye had it playing in the foyer that time Hal came to visit John at work.” Jamie scowled, realising that Tom saved that particular reference for those for whom he held the greatest disdain. “If ye’ve got their names, just tell me, dammit!”

Jamie was growing more and more impatient, with both Tom and the driver of the Land Rover who was keeping him from speeding. He glowered at the vehicle willing it to move aside and was gratified when it politely indicated and moved back into the middle lane.

“Spit it out, Tom!” growled Jamie, putting his foot down to create a satisfying distance between himself and the annoying four-by-four. “Who the fuck is it?”

“There are two of ’em. You know them.” Tom paused and then blurted out the names quickly: “George the Git and Percy Prick.”

“Ye’ve got to be fucking kidding! Those perverted bloody arsewipes!” screamed Jamie, his hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that he wrenched the car off course and nearly into the concrete crash barrier.

“Fraser! Don’t you fucking dare crash!” Tom yelled in his ear, apparently alerted by the squeal of brakes.

“Dinna fash, Byrdie, I’m no’ going to let John down. Not now.” Jamie gritted his teeth. “Right – so this was planned, it wasna just John deciding on a whim to put his body and soul on the line?”

“No, it doesn’t look that way at all,” agreed Tom.

“Alright then, so let’s assume these bastards have been planning this.” Jamie paused as he switched lanes again, quickly resuming his preferred fast lane position. “To pick today, just as I got back in town. How the hell-”

“Oh shit!” interrupted Tom. “That’ll be my fault. I put the date on the wall planner. Either of those shits could’ve seen it there-”

“Fuck – are ye telling me those wankers have been in the office?” demanded Jamie, wishing he had been there to put a stop to whatever they had been up to at Fraser-Grey.

“Yeah – Percy was here Friday night, lolling around like he does on the sofa, drinking sherry. Fluttering his eyelashes at John one minute and giving me dagger eyes the next. And George – he’s been around in the evenings too. They’ve both taken to hanging around at night, waiting for me to leave.”

“Right.” Jamie bit the inside of his cheek as he clocked the sign for the exit he needed to take. One mile to go. “I need ye to make a few calls fer me, Tom. It’s time we put an end to this nonsense once and fer all. We’ve got contacts in high places – let’s make use of them.”

“Just tell me what you need me to do, sir. Whatever it takes to get his Lordship out of their fucking clutches.” Tom’s loyalty was back in force, for which Jamie was thankful. He had every faith that knowing how much John’s safety was at stake, Tom Byrd would move heaven and earth to carry out Jamie’s instructions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jamie drove up the drive, the gravel crunching under the wide tyres of the Porsche, he looked at the imposing stone façade, built to look like a ruined abbey and took a deep breath.

“Lord John William Grey, I coming to get ye.” Grim-faced, Jamie made a declaration of intent. “Fer the love of all that’s holy, ye’d better be fucking grateful.”

Jamie parked facing away from the entrance, tucked into the overgrown woodland to the side of the road, ready for a speedy departure. Before arriving at the site of the Hellfire Caves, he had pulled into a farm track to unlock the gun safe and take out the shotgun. As he got out of the Cayman, he slid it under his coat, tucking his hand into a pocket to hold it in place, next to his side, satisfied that it was concealed under his long overcoat. It would not have to stay hidden for long - he had no intention of keeping its presence a secret once he gained entrance to the Hellfire Club.

As he entered the foyer, he was greeted by two men, sitting behind a heavy oak desk. They were both dressed in the habits of monks, if monks wore Rolex watches and chunky gold chains as accessories to austere black robes. One of the men was older, greying at the temples, with thinning hair, whilst the other was completely bald, with a blotchy complexion. They had the appearance of disgraced businessmen.

“Bless you my son,” said the bald man, bowing his head slightly. “Welcome to the Abbey. Are you seeking enlightenment?”

“Nae, I’m fully enlightened thank ye kindly,” replied Jamie, with a fixed grin. “However, I am seeking a lost soul that needs rescuing and ye’d better not get in my way, not if ye dinna want tae meet yer maker before lunchtime.”

Without pausing to ask what he meant, the older of the two counterfeit monks turned to pull on a bell rope, no doubt summoning assistance – or security. _Probably both_ , thought Jamie.

“Whoever ye’re calling, I really dinna give a flying fuck,” Jamie bared his teeth at the men and decided he had nothing to lose in telling them exactly what he wanted. “I’m here to give Lord John Grey a lift home, so if ye could fetch him fer me, that would save us all a lot of trouble and bloodshed.”

He saw the look the two exchanged and fought the urge to grab hold of their heads and smash them together. The man who had rung the bell turned to appraise Jamie, eyeing him up and down, taking in the expensive leather boots and the designer overcoat.

“Ah, Lord Grey, of course,” he said knowingly. “If you are a friend of his, I am terribly sorry but you’re too late to wish him luck.”

Jamie yet again struggled with the temptation to wipe the patronising smirk from the bastard’s face.

“As my associate says, you’re too late,” chipped in the man with the bald head. “He will have already crossed the Styx and entered the Inner Temple.”

Jamie had no time for the nonsense he was hearing and rolled his eyes with disgust.

“I see. This way is it?” asked Jamie as he started to make his way towards the archway that seemed to lead into the caves carved into the hillside.

“Excuse me!” protested the older monk, who had leapt to his feet to intercept Jamie. He continued to bluster as he pushed out his chest and stood in Jamie’s way. “Only members are permitted to attend the initiation rites and our facial recognition software has no record of you-”

“Nae, excuse me!” Jamie held up a hand commanding the flustered ‘monk’ to stop talking. “Which part of no’ giving a fuck did ye nae understand?”

The man spluttered, but still did not move aside, which left Jamie no choice but to sweep him to one side with a well-aimed forearm to the midriff that had him doubled over, gagging.

Behind him, Jamie caught sight of the bald monk starting to reach inside his robes, so he pulled one side of his greatcoat to one side, revealing the concealed shotgun.

“If ye want tae risk whatever ye’ve got tucked away in yer pocket being bigger than this, be my guest. If not, throw it to me now and then stay the fuck out of my way.”

He raised the firearm with one hand and pointed it at the man’s chest, just to make his intentions perfectly clear. 

The blotched face of his adversary became even redder as he fumbled with a small pistol. He threw it towards Jamie, who bent down to pick it up, without breaking eye contact. As soon as Jamie slipped the weapon into his coat pocket, he swung his shotgun around, catching the man in the gut with the stock, felling him with one smooth movement.

Not waiting to see if the victim of his frustration got to his feet, Jamie stormed off down the narrow, manmade caves. As he turned a tight corner in the tunnel, Jamie found himself confronted by a group of robed men, no doubt summoned by the two at reception. However, the narrowness of the passageway worked in Jamie’s favour as they could only take him on one at a time and they were no match for his fury. He ploughed straight into the first one he met, punching him in the face with sufficient force to propel him back into the others, causing them to topple over one another like dominoes.

Jamie then ran over their stricken bodies, judiciously kicking at anything that moved as he trampled over them. He was in a hurry to catch hold of a scrawny fellow at the back of the group who was scrambling to his feet, eager to make his escape. Grabbing hold of the hood of the man’s robes, Jamie hauled him back and then wrapping his hand around the man’s neck, he hoisted him up in the air until his feet dangled under him. He pointed at the two tunnels that split off from the main cave.

“Now if ye’d be sae kind as to point me in the direction of the inner temple, I’m from the Environmental Health Department.” With his lips pursed, Jamie tightened his grip on the man’s neck. “There’ve been reports of vermin – ye could call me an exterminator.”

“It’s forbidden for outsiders to witness the inhiation rites,” came the defiant response from the squirming ‘monk’ who seemed oblivious to the danger he was in. Either that or he was more scared of the leaders of the cult. “I cannot-”

Jamie raised the barrel of his shotgun and aimed it directly at the man’s crotch.

“Let me put it tae ye this way - if ye’re no’ celibate now, ye soon will be if ye dinna point me in the right direction,” Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he weighed up the pros and cons of wasting cartridges and having to reload. He regretfully decided that the satisfaction of blowing the guy’s tackle to smithereens was not worth the delay. “After ye.”

With a vindictive smile, Jamie accepted the consolation provided by the unmistakable smell of piss, which confirmed that his threat had hit home.

The scrawny man clutched at the damp patch on his robes and pointed in the direction of the left-hand fork. Rather than trust him, Jamie pushed the man in front and prodded his arse with the barrel of his twelve-gauge shotgun to guarantee he would lead him in the right direction. The flaming torches mounted in wall sconces lit up the chalk and flint walls only at intervals, leaving the intervening stretches of tunnel oppressively dark. To Jamie, it seemed as if he was treading the same pathway that John had trod in more than the literal sense. The man he was beginning to realise he loved dearly had descended into a world of darkness and depravity, and, from what Tom had told him, it was all because he believed he had lost the light in his life.

After stepping over a stream that flowed from an underground conduit and through a channel carved into the floor of the passageway, they reached the end of the tunnel. The area opened up into a cavernous antechamber, a waiting area by the looks of the footprints in the fine sand that had been spread out across the floor. Jamie’s eyes were drawn to the heavy, Gothic-arched door set in the wall in front of them, ornate ironwork criss-crossing the ancient wood, with an inverted pentagram in the very centre. His reluctant guide was trembling, as if frightened of what lay within, so he let him go, having no further need of the man.

Pushing open the door, surprised it was unlocked, Jamie found himself standing in what appeared to be a dungeon. A dismal looking place with chains dangling from the high ceiling and all manner of what appeared to be antique torture devices hanging from hooks on the walls. Jamie shuddered at the sight of the sturdy wooden saltire to one side, its wrist and ankle restraints unbuckled and open, next to it a table on which lay a selection of flogging instruments. Although Jamie had never been averse to some play in the bedroom, he had never understood the desire to receive or give actual pain.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloomy interior, illuminated mainly by a cluster of black candles set in elaborate candlesticks on the altar, he could make out a group of men in the shadows. Standing nearer the lighter zone in the centre of the room he could make out two tall men wearing black robes, the hoods over their heads, obscuring their faces. They were holding another man by the arms between them. It was John. A thick leather collar around his throat, with a long, heavy chain attached. He looked drugged and Jamie could only imagine what cocktail of drugs they had pumped into him – if he had intended to keep his cool, that was over and done with – the red mist descended on him and all he could see was John being used and abused. He could hear his own pulse in his ears as his heart beat with greater force from the adrenaline pumping around his veins.

All the time that John had been vulnerable and seeking the company of other men, Jamie had loved him, but had been too much of a coward to admit it to himself or to John. In everything they had said and done, he had demonstrated affection for John, and he had known how John felt about him. But his prejudices had kept him from accepting any physical expression of that love beyond the occasional drunken kisses when whisky had dissolved the defensive barriers he had put up.

_Fuck._

**_You looked into the eyes of men above you  
I was the one who really tried to love you_ **

One look at John convinced Jamie that if he had not been able to get Tom to tell him where he had gone, John would probably never have seen the light of day again. Jamie shuddered as the very real threat to John still existed. The altar cloth with pentagrams with the two points facing upwards – as devil’s horns - along with inverted crucifixes on top, all made the nature of the Hellfire Club abundantly clear. Meanwhile, John was not in his right mind and from what Tom had said he had not been there since that night in December when he had fled the offices of Fraser-Grey and run into the arms of Percy-fucking- Wainwright at the Lavender House Club.

 _Fuck Percy_.

Always there, hovering in the background. Calling John on the phone, with an urgent need to talk, apparently whenever they were having dinner together or dropping in at John’s flat, drunk, asking if he could stay the night, even though it had been obvious that Jamie was there with him and that they were planning a late night playing chess. The prick had been stalking John and had probably thrown a party when John had turned up at the Lavender House after Jamie had rejected him so publicly. Bastard had probably plied him with booze and drugs. Jamie had always known in his gut that Percy had been desperate for him and John to part company.

Growling under his breath, Jamie pointed his gun at the man whose grip on John seemed the tightest. The creep’s free hand was trailing down the side of John’s body as if staking his claim. The thought of that man’s hands on John... on his naked skin… on his arms, legs, back, arse. _Stop it!_ Jamie screamed at his internal tormentor. _How dare that bastard touch John like that?_

Then, he saw it – the distinctive features of his nemesis, the well-manicured hand, the Prada boots- naturally. It was Percy. Then he saw what was on the index finger of the man’s hand – the sapphire gleaming in the candlelight. The shit was wearing Hector’s ring. Jamie swore he would cut the bastard’s finger off if he had to in order to get that ring off of him. 

For a brief moment Jamie faltered, wondering if perhaps it was what John wanted. Perhaps John had given Percy that ring? No that was inconceivable. In all the time he had known John, he had only ever taken that ring from his hand once, to lend to Roger when he had proposed to Brianna and had not had time to buy a ring. It suddenly hit Jamie, that John had been prepared to give up his lover’s ring for his daughter. John had been prepared to give his dead love’s ring to Jamie’s daughter – how could he deny the love that showed. Jamie could hardly breathe.

Percy took one look at Jamie, blew him a kiss and then leant down over John and forced his tongue into John’s mouth, possessing him in front of Jamie. _The perverted arsehole_. Jamie swore he would make him pay – John was not anyone’s property. Although it struck Jamie that the man owned his heart, having gently laid claim to it all these years, as friends and family all took him into their homes, acknowledging his gentle good humour and kindness. To see that goodness and honour being defiled in front of his eyes, in this haven for the ungodly, that was too much for Jamie to bear. He gritted his teeth and raised his shotgun to his shoulder and took aim at Percy.

“Get your hands off him or I’ll shoot ye.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

In the shadows the darkened figures made sounds of protest.

“Jamie?” John’s voice cut through the dissenting voices murmuring in the dark. He sounded confused.

Jamie kept his gun aimed at Percy, but turned his gaze to John. Their eye met – for the first time in weeks. The adoration he saw, the unbridled love and hope was all he needed to convince him of the validity of his actions.

“Aye, John. I’ve come to take ye home wi’ me,” Jamie spoke softly, not wanting to frighten John. “Where ye belong. Are ye ready?”

“I’ve always been ready.” John smiled sadly at Jamie, even as a tear slid down the side of his cheek.

Watching the course of the tear, Jamie inhaled deeply and looked once more into John’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow, wanting to make sure John was fully aware of him. A nod indicated that John was listening.

“There’s something I need to tell ye-” started Jamie.

“It doesn’t need saying-”interrupted John, shaking his head slowly.

“Aye, it does, mo leannan. I love ye – I always have.” Having made the confession, in front of faceless witnesses, Jamie then needed to know the feeling was mutual. “D’ye still feel the same fer me?”

“Even if you hadn’t just crashed in here, to my rescue, waving a fucking big gun,” John paused to flick his eyes down at the weapon clutched in Jamie’s fists. “Dear God, Jamie Fraser, I shall love you until the day I die.”

With that admission, John wrenched his hands free of the men restraining him and turned to Percy.

“You have something of mine that I did not say you could have – I would appreciate it if you would return it to me now.”

“Do as he says, or I’ll cut yer fucking finger off!” added Jamie for good measure, reaching into his pocket for his penknife, ready to act. 

Percy twisted the ring free and rather than placing it into John’s outstretched hand, he dropped it to the floor. As John crouched down to pick it up, the other man pounced on him, pushing him flat to the ground and dragging John’s arms behind his back.

The hood had fallen from the man’s head to reveal George Everett.

“I shouldha fucking known!” cried out Jamie as he swung the shotgun around to point at George Everett’s head. “Get the fuck away from him now, or I will kill ye – and I’ll no’ give ye a second warning!”

Pulling John’s head up by the short ponytail at the nape of his neck, George taunted Jamie by shaking John’s head to and fro. .

“My dear Fraser, do leave us alone won’t you,” said George, mimicking John’s refined English accent. He then pressed the length of his body against John’s and writhed. “You’re just wrecking the mood – ”

“Ye’re going to regret that, ye fucking arsewipe,” snarled Jamie, tempted to shoot, except that the bastard was lying on top of John and he could not shoot without a chance of hitting john as well. “Ye’re no’ worth the steam off his piss.”

“Are you going to shoot us with that great big weapon of yours, Fraser?” Percy pouted at Jamie and then ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. 

Jamie took two strides forward and slammed a fist into Percy’s face, watching on with satisfaction as blood spurted from his nose. It had hurt his knuckles, but it was worth it. Turning back to face George Everett, Jamie took aim once more.

“Ye have five seconds to move away from John before I shoot ye.”

“That would be murder!” whined George, as he sat up, straddling John’s hips. “I know you have friends at court, but they won’t be able to protect you from a murder charge.”

“Who said anything about shooting tae kill? If I aim fer yer bollocks, I could take out yer prick at the same time … ye’d no’ be dead.”

“Again, that would still be a crime and you know it,” blustered George Everett. “Whereas I am not about to do anything that our dear friend has not fully agreed to in writing. He has confirmed repeatedly that he wants membership of our exclusive little club.”

“He’s changed his mind- haven’t ye, John?”

“Yes – dammit,” replied John. “Just shoot the bastard, Jamie. I’ll give a statement that it was in self-defence.”

“Shut the fuck up, John,” grumbled George, twisting John’s arm up between his shoulders. “You signed a full disclaimer agreeing not to hold the establishment responsible for anything that should happen to you whilst on the premises.”

“He’s got a ceremonial dagger!” John called out, spitting dirt out of his mouth as he raised his head. “I’ll say he went for you with it and you shot him to protect yourself.”

“But I never -“

“Yer five seconds were up a while back, George-” warned Jamie.

Shoving John’s face back down to the floor, George sat back on his heels, slid a hand into his sleeve and pulled out the dagger. Raising it above John, he was about to thrust it in between John’s shoulder blades just as Jamie pulled the trigger.

The sound of the blast echoed around the chamber.

Then the door slammed open and the figures who had stood in the shadows watching on in silence fled the dungeon, not wanting their identities to be known or to be dragged into any criminal investigation whatsoever. As they did so, they were met my armed police storming into the antechamber, riot shields in front of them and a pack of dogs for good measure.

Sinking to the ground beside John, pushing aside the bloodied body of Everett, Jamie took a deep breath. He had been waiting for the back up that he had asked Tom to arrange. It did not hurt that Hal Grey was Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.

As their ears recovered from the reverberations of the shotgun being fired in a small, enclosed space, Jamie became aware of the chaotic sounds outside, as yells for people to drop to the ground were followed with the barking sounds of rights being read and arrests being made.

Jamie carefully lifted John into his arms. They collapsed together to the ground, soaked in George Everett’s blood. In the corner crouched Percy, sobbing as blood and snot ran down his chin.

“John, mo charaid? Are ye alright?” begged Jamie, hoping he had not caught John, even though at such a short range, all the shot should have entered George Everett’s chest.

“Get me the fuck out of here, please.”

“Whatever ye say, mo chridhe,” muttered Jamie, holding John tightly. “There’s just one thing I need to do first. Something that’s long overdue. At least while sober.”

John frowned and then relaxed as Jamie leant forward to press a gentle kiss to his mouth.

“I am ready, whenever ye are, to take that a wee bit further than a drunken fumble. If that’s alright with ye?”

John grinned, even as tears tumbled down his cheeks.

“As soon as we’re out of this hellhole and I’ve washed the stink of it away, I am all yours.”

“Dear God – how can ye bear to forgive me, after what I said to ye – ”

“You just shot a man to save my life, how could I not forgive you?”

Holding one another close they wept together, from exhaustion and from relief at a nightmare ending.

“Are ye naked under this robe?” asked Jamie, as he pulled the thin fabric over John’s shoulder.

“Yes – and I have no idea where my overnight bag in-”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” came a gruff voice from the door, accompanied by the sounds of a man clearing his throat. “I think this is yours, sir.”

The police officer placed John’s small case inside the door.

“I’m DI Jones, sir. As requested by the Met, we’ve secured the site ready for further investigations into allegations of illegal activities.” He paused and winced as he saw the dead body of George Everett lying in a pool of blood. “I’m afraid we’ll have to get the coroner to deal with the body there, so it would be best if you two gentlemen were on your way before she arrives. Self-defence I take it?”

“Um, yes … he …” muttered John, looking at Jamie’s shotgun that he had dropped when he had rushed to John’s side.

“No need to trouble yourself, your Lordship,” said DI Jones, shaking his head solemnly. “I understand your kidnapping has been a very traumatic experience.”

As John was about to challenge the policeman’s assumption, Jamie squeezed his hand and coughed gently, hinting that he would explain all later.

“Sorry – of course, this must all be very upsetting for you, sir,” said the police officer apologetically. “As the main suspect won’t have the chance to plea not-guilty, there won’t be a court hearing, so your identity will remain protected, in deference to the sensitive position held by your brother.”

“What about-?” Jamie pointed to Percy, who was still curled up next to the altar, rocking to and fro, still holding his broken nose. This time it was John who took his hand and clutched it tightly.

“He was not aware of what Everett had planned,” said John, looking to Jamie for approval for what he had in mind. “I think we can safely say that a reduced charge, taking into account diminished responsibility, would be acceptable.” John then stared at Percy and shook his head sadly. “As long as it is accompanied by a restraining order.”

“If that is how you would both like to proceed?” Jones looked at Jamie, sensing a certain reluctance in the large Scotsman.

“If that’s how Lord John wants to proceed, I’ll go along with his wishes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, they walked, hand in hand, towards the black Cayman. John wearing a thick sweater and a pair of worn jeans, Jamie in his tweed suit, having left behind his blood-spattered coat with the police.

“Ye’ll never believe what Jenny told me,” muttered Jamie as they got nearer the car. ”Ye’re going to love this, she thought we were a couple. And what’s more, she approved – she was more upset when I said we weren’t.”

“Well I suppose she sees us together so much…” murmured John in reply. But it made him smile, the fact that Jamie’s staunchly Catholic sister thought their partnership went deeper than a business arrangement.

Jamie held open the passenger door for John and shut it behind him. After putting John’s case in the boot, regretfully not having his shotgun to lock up as it was required by the forensics team, Jamie sighed with profound relief. Not only had he rescued John from whatever dastardly acts Percy and George had planned, he had also repaired some of the damage he had inflicted on the man himself. 

As he got into the driver’s seat, Jamie turned to face John. He took his hand and placed it firmly on his own thigh before speaking.

“Aye, but what she said, got me thinking. Ye ken what, John? All this bloody time, we’ve been dating!” Jamie laughed as he allowed himself to grasp how ridiculous his reactions had been. “We’ve gone out with each other, on dates, for everything from dinner to drinks, to the theatre and to the cinema. We’ve gone away together fer long weekends to the races and fer skiing holidays. We’ve been each other’s plus one at sae many family events, nae wonder they think we’re a couple.”

“Does everyone else think we’re an item?” asked John nervously. He was surprised at how calmly Jamie was accepting this revelation.

“Well, Tom doesna, because he kens us too well. Although, come tae think on it, he was making some very pointed remarks. But my sister-”

“My brother as well!” exclaimed John, lifting his hand to his mouth. “Fuck. No wonder he-”

“Aye – Hal thinks we’re fucking,” confirmed Jamie.

“Shit.” John covered his face with his hands, mortified.

Jamie did not respond out loud, but in his head he muttered ‘fuck you, Hal’ and grinned. He then put the key in the ignition, put the car into gear and pulled out, waving to DI Jones as he carefully steered his way through the assortment of marked and unmarked police vehicles scattered along the gravel drive.

“Dear God – what about Claire?” asked John suddenly as they reached the main road. “Whenever she writes to me, she always asks how you’ve been keeping, but I thought that’s just because we work together.”

“Weel – that would explain the card she sent me fer Christmas,” said Jamie, frowning as he recalled that it was one of those cards to ‘the two of you’. “It was to both of us but sent to my flat and not the office – I did think that was strange.” 

“Not strange if she assumes we’re living together.”

“Christ, John. We’re a couple,” announced Jamie with a broad grin. “Everyone we know seems to have kent that we’ve been in a relationship except for us. How the hell did we no’ know?”

“Well it’s not as if we’ve been sleeping together.“ suggested John.

“Aye, there is that,” admitted Jamie as he considered how much he would like to sleep with John. He fully intended to that night, if for no other reason than not wanting to let John out of his sight.

“You have kissed me though. At least twice if my memory serves me well,” commented John. “And it was you that initiated it – on each occasion.”

“I was drunk-” protested Jamie.

“So was I! Especially at that governor’s ball we attended together in Jamaica,” responded John with a smile teasing his lips. “I blamed the rum. Although there are safer places in the world to push a man against the wall and snog the breath out of him.”

Jamie laughed out loud – recalling the evening only too well. They had seen Claire there, no wonder she had given him ‘that look’ when they had bumped into each other in the queue for the toilets.

“So, all this time, our families have assumed …” started John, a frown creasing his forehead once more. A frown that Jamie had the urge to kiss away.

“Aye, seems like we’ve been virtually married to each other in all but name. And also never actually consummated, if ye ken what I mean.”

“I suppose that’s what I was suggesting that night,” pondered John, looking back from a different perspective.

“Aye. And I reacted very badly. I think I was jealous – ye’d been sleeping around sae much. Now I ken why it bothered me sae much.”

Stopping at traffic lights on the large roundabout for the motorway. Jamie set his phone in the dashboard console and quickly tapped in a post code. He glanced at John, pleased that he had not spotted what he had done.

As the lights changed, Jamie pulled into the far-left hand lane.

“Hang on! Jamie!” shouted John, gesticulating wildly and pointing at road signs. “You’ve taken the wrong turning – you’re heading out west on the M40 instead of back towards London!”

“Dinna fash, mo chridhe,” soothed Jamie, patting John’s hand. “That’s deliberate. If ye’ve no objection, I think a suite at Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons would be a suitable place for me tae try tae put things right between us.”

“What about the office?” asked John, and then- his eyes widening with horror. “ What about Tom? He’ll be furious!”

“I sent him a text while ye were getting dressed – got him to book the suite. He’s been to both our flats, packed two cases and had them couriered on ahead of us.”

“Tom did that for you?” asked John in disbelief. “The last time he mentioned you to me by name was to call you ‘Fuckface Fraser’ and to say he hoped your dick had dropped off.”

“Weel, what can I say? He’s given me another chance.” Jamie’s grin slipped from his face as he quickly looked to John. “Have ye? Given me another chance?”

“It’s you and I, Jamie – we’re both giving us another chance, don’t you think?”

“Aye, a chance tae catch up with what everyone else has been taking fer granted,” agreed Jamie. “I love you, John Grey – and dinna ye ever have cause tae doubt that ever again.”

John took the hand that Jamie had placed on his thigh and pressed his lips to the bruised knuckles, knowing that they bore proof of just how madly in love Jamie was with him.

Putting on a pair of sunglasses that he kept in the glove compartment, ostensibly to shield his eyes from the sun that was setting in front of them, John allowed himself to weep with joy.

“Are ye alright, mo leannan.”

“More than I have ever been in my entire life, my love.”


End file.
